The Unicorn Who Cried by K. E. Ward - HTML preview

There was a unicorn one time who lived in the Forest of Mist, deep into the heart of the Land of Memories. His name was Nathaniel, and he was a very good-looking unicorn.

He thought his mane was very long and white, with brilliant sheen. His body was also white, his muscles rather strong by now, although he wasn’t old. Although, he didn’t know how old he was. He thought perhaps he was a youth.

But he was sad. He cried often. He cried about a girl and a prince, but especially about the girl.

The girl, also a youth, came to the Forest of Mist. Her name was Annabelle, and she loved to come to the little lake in the center of the forest and gaze into the water, drifting her finger along the surface. She could see her reflection and the hint of blue sky above her, what little she could see of that and the clouds in the spaces between the tops of the trees, high in the sky.

They were fir trees, and as every in the forest and in the land was, they were magical. Within the trees there were memories, which grew with the trunk and sap. The trees were very old, and perhaps they remembered a lot of things from deep into the past.

But Annabelle was on a walk to find the unicorn that day. She loved him so much. She talked to him, and he would talk back. They got along so well that they spent so much time together.

Annabelle and Nathaniel were such friends. Once, a long time ago, a witch had casted a spell that the prince she desired would mistake her for a unicorn, and that he would never be able to see he again.

He lived in a different land, however, one at a lower elevation than the Land of Memories. There was no way to travel to the Land of Memories and the Forest of Mist if one were a mortal.

In the Land of Memories, the spell the witch had casted had no power, but in the Land of Sleep, the prince she loved stayed.

She had been there once. It was very difficult. She was captured by the witch, and the witch casted a spell on her and Nathaniel. They were able to break free, and that was when she met Prince Ethan.

She fell in love with him when he took her into his castle after she had escaped from the witch.

But that was when the spell began to work, and he saw only a unicorn who went away from him, into the sky.

Now, in the Land of Memories, Annabelle and Nathaniel had a conversation about the prince.

“How will we ever break the spell?” she asked.

“Annabelle, I don’t know.”

“Perhaps we can find a fairy to use her powers against the witch.”

“You’re right! There is a fairy named Twinkle who will do just that for us. Let us go and find her.”

Annabelle stroked Nathaniel’s mane in appreciation. “Yes! Let’s do that.”

They started off on their journey. Because they were still in the Land of Memories, they did not fear anything. Everything was so quiet, and the air was so soft. It was a little heaven, but the mortals from the Land of Sleep were missing, and she loved them.

Just then they found the fairy, who was lounging in the branch of a tree.

"Twinkle!” Nathaniel said. “You must help us break a spell. I know you have magical powers. Annabelle has a very good reason to do so. Please, help us.”

Twinkle yawned and said, “Nathaniel, whatever is reason enough for me to use my magic for you?”

“Please,” Annabelle said. “I love a prince in the Land of Sleep. The witch from the Forest of Thorns casted a spell against us, so that Prince Ethan would never know the difference between the two of us.”

“And I see that you love him,” said Twinkle.

“Yes, Twinkle, of course. It broke my heart. Please, let him become immortal and come to the Land of Mist, let there be a bridge between the two lands, so that we might walk from place to place whenever we want.”

So, the fairy agreed. She started that afternoon throwing fairy dust on the Land of Sleep. She flew all across it, all the while saying, “Sleep, sleep, sleep no more. You will love her evermore.”

That night Prince Ethan slept.

But in the morning, the witch was at the foot of the bed. “Awwwhh, me. I see that the horrid fairy has made mischief, because now you are becoming immortal!” She lifted her wand to cast another spell, but just then Twinkle flew quickly in front of her and took her wand.

She lifted it and used it to defeat the witch. Unable to use her power anymore, she retreated into the Forest of Thorns, never to come out again.

So, Twinkle spoke to Prince Ethan, “Prince, I have made you immortal. Your Annabelle lives, and she is up in the Land of Memories. Please, come with me so that you can be together, forever, and be happy.

And so he did, and he and Annabelle were so happy, and so were Nathaniel and Twinkle, and so were the rest of the forest and lands.

***

The Magical Garbage Can and Fate

She saw what could have been a metal garbage can, but it could have been about eight feet tall.  She touched her fingers to its cool surface, and a groove appeared.  She stood back, appalled that she knew it had not been there before.  It had literally materialized before her eyes.  Pressing it gently, she saw the groove extend higher, turn a ninety degree angle to the right, travel sideways, and then making another ninety degree angle until it stopped at the base of the can.  A doorway appeared, and then she saw visions of masked men and a dance of three women in black dresses, circling around each other.  Gray smoke seared upwards before her eyes, and she knew that these beings were from the darkness. She looked past them.

The door opened by itself, pushing the air in such a way that made a whoosh, a sound like a powerful electrical current thrumming as it did.  When the door had completely opened, she stepped inside.  A spiral staircase, and then another.  They were zig-zagged steps that led into many rooms.  The air looked to be covered in a white gauze, because it was so smoky, and as she placed her feet upon each stair, a gentle vibrating massaged her toes: perhaps it was the electrical energy she had heard before.

Square windows were like eyes all around, because she could not get past the sensation that they were looking at her, and each, she already knew, led to another dimension. She passed great lands with passionate wind and restless black trees scraping against a gray and dark blue sky.  She passed realms made up of intense reds, pulsing like a heart that was independent of a body.

She came upon a hallway with many rooms, each representing a year of her life.  Each year had its own soul, and these timelines brushed against each other, communicating in quiet tones.  A flash of lightning struck, trembling the marble floor beneath her feet.

At the end of the hallway was the end of her life. She stepped into the room and there was a gigantic marble, and a voice which told her, “Do not dare look into the marble! It is not for you to know your fate!”

Knowing that the voice knew what it was talking about, she wished to be back on earth, out of the metal garbage can. “You’re absolutely right,” she replied. She slammed the door on the end of her life, and ran back through the garbage can/maze/house.

Once she was safely outside of the garbage can, she sighed in relief and thought to herself, “What a trip.”

***

The Pocket Scrying Mirror

There was a two-story house which had a spiral staircase and a grandfather clock. Its couches were made of floral fabric and had long, round, red and gold, velvet pillows. There was a coat of dust upon everything: the hardwood, marble, and carpet floors, the furniture, the clock, and the decorations, which included stained glass lamps and a crystal ball.

A family lived there. An old man of fifty-two years came to visit often. He was a professor of sociology at the university, and also understood a thing or two about philosophy. He knew his government, politics, and history. He kept up with the news on a daily basis, for he had a subscription to a popular newspaper. His name was Professor Wilmton, and he carried something strange in his coat pocket.

It was what looked at first like a pocket watch, but it had no face and no hands. Its back surface was genuine gold with paisley design on it. Its front surface was dark, convex, and subtly reflected light. It was a pocket scrying mirror.

A scrying mirror was an object wizards used to see pictures of things far away, or perhaps ghosts. One might also see angels, an oracle, God, or the devil. One might have long conversations with them this way; but most of all, it was a magical way to see things that ordinary people would not be able to see.

Once, Dr. Wilmton came to knock on the family’s door, whose name was, “The Harrisons.” It was comprised of four people: a father, a mother, a son, and a daughter. He knew this particular family because the son was a student of his, and he got along very well with the rest of the family. They happened to go on vacation a lot, though, and when he knocked, there was no answer. He knocked again and again. But he decided that they were not there; they must have been on vacation again.

But loving the house so much, Professor Wilmton wanted to go inside, so he checked the door to see if it was locked. Indeed, it was not. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Inside it was very quiet, but Professor Wilmton, having magical powers, knew that music had recently been played in that house. He could feel its vibrations. He knew that it had been beautiful music.

He pulled out his pocket scrying mirror to find out what had happened to the Harrisons. He looked into its curved surface, letting the light glint at it a little bit, and saw them standing by an ocean shore in their bathing clothes, playing on the sand and in the water.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “They have gone to the sea.”

His magic was quite powerful, because he was a good wizard. He used his power to float through the house, not wanting his footprints to be on the floor so that they wouldn’t know he snooped. He floated upstairs and into the boy’s bedroom, so that he could know if he was doing his summer reading. Disappointedly, he found that Gregory had opened up a book, but had not gotten very far.

He floated back downstairs. He did one more thing: he used quite a lot more power to cast a spell for the Harrisons to remember him, think very hard about how wonderful he was, decide to invite him over in the future, when they had returned from vacation, and to throw him a huge party for his birthday.

After all, that was what he wanted from the beginning. Feeling a little selfish for using his power to give himself a delightful party, he chastised himself for being so greedy. But he didn’t get a lot of parties. He wasn’t remembered enough, either. He had such power that he could have used it to make himself a millionaire, but all he wanted was a little affection.

Professor Wilmton. Professor of sociology. Great conversationalist. Wizard. Lonely.

***

My Mother, a Poem

By K. E. Ward

My mother, the poet

Finds the words to tell a tale;

She writes beauty, but she never knows it.

Her grace will never fail.

The dance of the rhythm of her song

Drives deep into the heart within.

The list of her virtues is long,

And love, with her, will undoubtedly win.

My mother is so beautiful,

As I remember her from long ago.

Her voice is soft and wonderful,

And her gentleness and love I’ll always know.

My mother, Elizabeth, is a queen,

A mother, a lioness, and a love.

Her song of courage, it lies between

The highest clouds up above.

Her loveliness is brighter than a precious gem,

Her sorrow deeper than a low depression,

But courage becomes stronger when

A sinner comes to quiet confession.

Mother, dear, did you not know that after the rain has passed,

What you see clearly is brighter than any star,

Because the Savior shines at last

For a yearning eye which looked wide and far.

My mother, my love,

Who lived so well,

Will fly up above

With a tale to tell.

***

Tree Poem

Two trees, with branches intertwined.

As they grow, they knot around each other,

Leaf to leaf, a caressing of leaf, branch, bark, trunk, and life.

From the bases of their trunks,

To beneath the soil where the roots begin,

They grow with each other.

With air, soil, and sun, they thrive.

Two thriving trees,

Like us.

***

Change

Like the change of seasons,

So do our lives change.

Colors of nature are a rainbow,

And rainbows are hope,

The hope of blue sky after rain.

A new event catches us by surprise,

Like an unexpected breeze

On a summer’s day.

When something new happens

I, too, become new.

I was a young bud

Who drank the dew,

And bathed in sunlight.

I grew, and grew, and I matured.

I am different now.

I was once young and inquisitive,

But now I have learned something.

I have also learned that there is more to know.

I welcome change.

***

Background about the Author

My name is Karyn Elizabeth Ward, and I go by the name, “K. E. Ward,” as an artist and writer. I was born in Connecticut in the 1970’s. I have lived in various places in the country, although I have only traveled as far as Canada. I like to entertain people: and by that I mean, to pass the time and to bring people happiness. Reading and looking at pictures is one way to pass the time, and it can make us happy. This particular book was a collection of three short stories and three poems. In it I describe for you fantasy worlds and magic. Magic is really anywhere we look for it; in a song, or in a moment in which we look up at the stars with a loved one. Magic is when life clicks into place, when we feel joy, and laughter, and when we smile. It is something we always want to remember. Magic means that something good is happening—and we cannot even understand or explain how it is happening; it just does. My other passion, fantasy, has presented itself to you in words.

This is a picture of me when I was a baby. I was very sweet.

This is a picture of me when I was three and a half years old. I was playing Mary in a Christmas pageant for my relatives. I did not grow up a Catholic, but from a very early age I had a fascination with and love for the Virgin Mary.

I am showing you this picture because I remember what I was thinking when my mother took that picture, “I am wise.” Children think such strange thoughts sometimes. Looking back, I realize it was a rather deep thought for a six-year-old. But I remember it clearly. I remember sitting in the rocking chair. I went through problems that children go through: scraped knees, medical problems, scolding, not getting along with my brother, and crying because I was tired, or because I was hungry, or because I was overwhelmed. Little things can distress children, like spilling a glass of milk, for example.

I mean, children go through all sorts of things. As I got older, I became more introspective. I became an introvert in the fourth grade. But I would say that I withdrew intellectually more than average. One might have diagnosed me with Attention Deficit Disorder, not hyperactivity, but it was before the days when this was a diagnosis.

I dreamed of stories. I drew pictures. My mother used to say to me, “Earth to Karyn,” because I was spacing out. I would say, “I’m on Planet Venus.” And then I would draw pictures of Planet Venus with tubes big enough for people to fit inside, which was how people teleported to that planet.

I thought of characters for scenarios. Occasionally we would write short stories for class, and also we regularly had art class.

I went to a writer’s camp. I would have gone six years, but there was one year which I missed. I won a place at a writer’s conference when I was in the sixth grade. I was known for both my writing and art in elementary school.

I thought of my first heroine, Julie Anne Miller, when I was twelve years old. And then I started writing my first novel.

I grew and matured. I went to junior high school and high school. I graduated and decided to major in creative writing at a four-year liberal arts college whose creative writing department was their best department.

So, I ended up studying creative writing, psychology, religion, and law.

I have written young adult books, adult books, children’s books, poetry, and non-fiction. I paint portraits, still life, and inanimate objects.

I share with you again a few of my stories, and I wish you a good day, and a restful night’s sleep.

-K. E. Ward